


the seven-thirty

by mellowly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Facial Shaving, Intimacy, Lazy Mornings, Lithuania with a Beard (sort of), M/M, Morning After, Partial Nudity, Slice of Life, Slow Sex, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 07:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowly/pseuds/mellowly
Summary: lithuania might be running late.poland is much too sweet to pass up.(or: love in the mornings.)





	the seven-thirty

**Author's Note:**

> a plot bunny from last night about Lithuania needing to shave.
> 
> enjoy.

**warsaw, march 20th, 2003**

* * *

 

In the end, it's still _ungodly_ to get up at five in the morning to catch the seven thirty-train to Berlin, and Lithuania complains under his breath as he turns on the shower. Poland is still asleep, wrapped in the sheets and looking angelic like Lithuania had left him, haloed by his hair and the grey light right before dawn. It's so nice, he muses, lathering up with soap, to be the one who lets Poland sleep unguarded, unafraid.

The pitter-patter of naked feet on floorboards tell him contrary, and before he can wash the bubbles off his skin Poland's hands slither around his waist, slightly cold.

"Good morning, Polska."

"I wouldn't call it morning yet, but it is good," Poland replies against his shoulder where he's steadily kissing his way to Lithuania's jaw. 

His answering laugh echoes in the shower.

A short while of debauchery and washing later, Lithuania finds himself scouring the bedroom drawers for a pair of acceptable underpants while Poland blow dries his hair in the bathroom - he should do something about breakfast, really, and tell off Poland for leaving marks above the collar, and pack his briefcase-

He stops in the hall, and a glance in the mirror also tells him that he really, actually, definitely should shave.

-

"Hold still."

"I am still."

"Not while you're talking, you're not."

Lithuania smiles at Poland from his seat on the low chair. Poland is perched on the sink, having stolen his dress shirt and only buttoned it halfway, and now he's got a knife to Lithuania's throat. Gently, gently, he shaves him, and it's surprisingly intimate - he suspects that might be partly their partial state of dress and partly the events of their shared shower, but then again one has to really trust someone to let them at your face with sharp tools. Especially someone like Poland.

It's no wonder Poland's voice is low and soft when he murmurs _all done_  and wipes off the excess with a damp rag.

There's silence for a beat, and car starts up in the distance, and the sun decides to take the moment and rise on Warsaw, bathing them in pale yellow light here in the tiled bathroom of Poland's apartment, where they both are now, inches apart.

Lithuania is so in love it hurts for a moment.

"Po..."

Poland leans in and kisses him, soft and easy, dropping the rag behind him somewhere as Lithuania cards his fingers through Poland's silky hair to pull him closer. He comes easily, sliding into Lithuania's lap and straddling him, never breaking away from their kisses; his arms on Lithuania's shoulders are relaxed and full of trust, all of him is, to be kissed apart like this on a Monday morning in the bathroom. 

Lithuania goes for the neck in retaliation for before, nipping but never biting at Poland's thin skin, never causing him pain. He wouldn't- _couldn't_ , really, all he wants is to see Poland sigh and tip his head back for more, to see him pleased, to feel him warm and willing in his arms.  
Thankfully, Poland had forgone dressing, which makes it easy to take off what is left, sliding the all-too-big shirt off his narrow shoulders to track its path with his mouth, slipping a hand further down his scarred back, brushing over patches of raised skin until he meets his mark.

Poland is melting in his hold, and they don't really have much time, but he's _irresistible_ when he's humming like that, low in his throat and full of anticipation, and, well- Lithuania isn't one to leave a task half done. Or undone, in Poland's case, because Poland is whimpering and tugging at his hair, the intention clear as day: _come back here and kiss me._

So Lithuania does. He slips a hand beneath the waistband of Poland's adorably yellow cotton boxers and kisses him sunder, right here in his lap at six thirty in the morning when he really should be having breakfast and preparing to run for his train. All worry about time flies out the window, however, when Poland gasps his name and jerks down, all too deliberately pressing himself against the front of Lithuania's slacks that he (thankfully) forgot to button properly.

"Mm, Liet, I know you're like, running late and all, but please- _ah_ -"

Whatever Poland was going to say derails when Lithuania slips a finger inside him, pressing his mouth to a delightful hickey already blooming on his collarbone. He decides that Berlin can wait and so can the train for all he cares, because he's here, now, and he loves this intimacy between them a lot more than commuting for hours to a meeting about railways.

"You good there, Po?"

He recalls how Poland used to say this, in the same way, long long ago when they lay together. Poland must remember too, because he smiles, wide and lazy, and dips his head to kiss Lithuania slowly, murmuring _yes_.  
He tugs the whole boxer ordeal out of the way and scoots a little so Poland can lean back against the sink, and watches him shiver, tossing his head back as Lithuania holds onto his hips and lets him sink down and down. He's beautiful, really, the way he almost glows in the morning light, eyes halfway shut and glimmering, flushed with pleasure so that the tiny scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose stands out.

Lithuania tells him this as they rock together gently. That he's beautiful, that he loves him, that he'll miss this when he's away, to which Poland gives a scoff that turns into a gasp.

"Oh yeah that's good, Liet, keep doing- Doing  _that_ ," he breathes, his soft hands running through Lithuania's hair, across his shoulders, cupping his face or holding onto his arms. Obliging, Lithuania snakes a hand between them, keeping the other splayed across Poland's back so he won't fall, guiding as much as he is guided.  
Poland groans and tips forward against him, clinging to his shoulders, thighs tremling about his waist-

They finish almost together, slow and magnificent, Lithuania's low moan pressed into Poland's neck, Poland's soft _oh_ 's falling free from his lips as they press themselves together, shuddering.

"You could catch the train if you run," Poland says after a moment more of gentle kissing, eyes still shut and lax against Lithuania. 

He chuckles and squeezes him a little.

"I think I'll just take the next one."

_fin._


End file.
